


Every Cat in Newcastle

by MythopoeticReality



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 05:10:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13606248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythopoeticReality/pseuds/MythopoeticReality
Summary: "Ormskirk is so loose that the person one summons might go pretty well anywhere at any time and feel that they had fulfilled their obligations – that, I admit, was not an easy task."When Strange says this to Segundus and Honeyfoot, he is speaking from experience.





	Every Cat in Newcastle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CloudAtlas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudAtlas/gifts).



“Gilbert Norrell! _Gilbert Norrell_! If I must hear that name _one more time_!”

Arabella sighed, glancing up from the pressed flowers and sketches she was making as a study for her next painting. She looked over towards her husband as he walked through the door, slamming it shut behind him. Judging by the tone in his voice and his empty hands, he had not had much luck, even here, in Newcastle, the very city that had once been the Raven King's capital.

“He has gotten here before you yet again?” She asked.

“Yes!” Jonathan pressed a hand to his head, his fingers tangling up in his reddish-brown locks. “I swear it is the same story in every place I visit! 'Oh, I'm sorry sir, we _did_ have that book just a while ago, but then a Gentleman from Yorkshire...'” He shook his head, nearly throwing himself down upon the sofa in front of the fireplace, beside Arabella. He leaned back, and then rolled his head around to face her. “Am I mad, Bell?” He asked, “that I still keep going with this, no matter how much it feels as though I'm ramming my head against a wall?”

A soft smile touched her lips. “I've heard it said that all of the best Magicians were a little mad.” she said.

Jonathan gave a soft huff, before turning his attention over towards her work. “What's this?” he asked.

“There was a hedge we passed by on our way into town with the loveliest little blue flowers growing beneath it. The way the light was hitting it that morning and the way the shadows tangled underneath... I knew I had to paint it eventually.”

To this Jonathan hummed quietly, and leaning over brushed a finger over one of the pressed flowers in her sketchbook.

“They are called John's Farthings.” He said after a few moments silence. “Do you know why? They say that the Raven King fell in love once, had gone nearly mad with it, if you can imagine.”

Arabella smiled to herself, catching the look in Jonathan's eye as he leveled his gaze on her, “Oh yes, _imagine_ , a _magician,_ falling in love!” She teased, leaning back up against her husband. He wrapped his arms around her.

“Unthinkable, yes, I know. And he did not even do it in the proper way, and find a woman to become enamored with and take up the profession _for._ Shocking isn't it?” He shook is head, the smirk that briefly touched his lips transforming into something softer as his fingers twined in with hers.

“Not all ladies require that Gentleman go so far as to become _magicians_ in order to impress them, Jonathan.”

A laugh escaped from her husband. “Ah, well, this one might have!” He said, “They say he nearly gave her his Kingdom, not to mention all of his magic as well.” Jonathan sat up straighter then, and it seemed nearly as soon as he'd taken Arabella's hand he'd disentangled his own from her again. Glancing back up at Jonathan, she saw that a certain light shone in his eyes, a look she had grown familiar with over the past several weeks. It was the way he looked when he began speaking of magic.

He held his hand forth, in front of her, cupping it as though holding something. “He took his hand,” Jonathan said, “and from empty air filled it with gold, showing it to the lady, saying 'All of this is worth nothing to me as compared to your heart,' And then,” He gave a flourish of his hand, “the gold became nothing more than a handful of wildflowers, bluish-white in color, and woven into a wreath. He placed the wreath upon her head, as though it were a crown, and then he said to her. 'All of my power, all of my kingdoms, they are _nothing_ to me next to you.'”

“That all still seems –- if I may say so -- left to his own absurdity.” Arabella replied, her eyes twinkling, and her tone playful, “I do not see her asking him to go nearly so far as all of that.”

Rolling his eyes up towards the heavens, Jonathan finally relented, “Call it absurdity if you like, you are not exactly wrong. But as I said be was completely lovesick! Do not underestimate what kind of absurdity that can create in a man.”

Arabella only raised her brows at her husband, before resting her head back against his chest again and sinking into his warmth. “Is that _really_ the story you heard?” She asked Jonathan, the tale stirring at some familiarity, calling back to fragments and pieces she had heard snatchings of in the time they'd spent traveling through the North, though she had heard nothing _nearly_ so romantic.

Jonathan colored then. He cleared his throat and glanced away. “Well,” he admitted. “It is... _one_ of them. Portishead's?” He paused then, and leaned over, just enough that Arabella could catch the astonished look he was giving her, out of the corner of a half-lidded eye. “ _Why?_ What versions have _you_ been hearing _Mrs. Strange?_ And what disreputable places have you been that you have been hearing them?”

“Only the same places as you, Jonathan.”

A comfortable sort of silence settled over the two of them in the following moments, the ticking of the clock on the wall and their own soft breathing combining with the scratch of Arabella's charcoal against the paper of her sketchbook. Leaning forward, Jonathan reached for _A Child's History of the Raven King_ and brushed his finger's across it's cover. “I must say, for all of the other chaff Gilbert Norrell has seen fit to leave me, he must have overlooked this wonderful little book.”

Arabella set her sketchbook to the side, laying it onto the coffee table beside Jonathan's book. “Well, I am glad you have found _something_ to begin working off from.” she said. And she truly meant every word. Her husband had spent the past year or so seeking out some profession or purpose, everything from poetry to law to fossil-hunting, and yet earnest as he ever was in the beginning there had always been _some_ obstacle, weather it be the dullness of lawbooks or the rain that had come on the day Jonathan had meant to set out for Lyme Regis. But now, when the obstacle _truly_ seemed insurmountable – and what _was_ a magician with no books to study magic _from_? – Jonathan seemed only more determined now than ever. And weather that was to fulfill is promise to her and prove that he had that constancy that she'd looked for in him, or weather it was something else, Arabella could not tell. Her hand slid across the slim volume with it's black cover,to meet Jonathan's. He reached over to lay his hand over hers once more.

“Well, it is a beginning.” He murmured, “I only wish I knew where it was I was meant to _go_ from here!”

Arabella gave a low hum in acknowledgment of her husband's words, unsure quite of what to say. And so she gave his hand a soft squeeze, as if to reassure him that he would find his path soon enough. “Well, there have not always been Books of Magic, have there?” she asked him, “There could not have been early on, at least, before there were many Magicians at all.”

Jonathan sighed, “From what I have read, during that time whenever someone discovered they had any particular potential or inclination towards magic they went off to seek out a more experienced magician to offer themselves up as a pupil. Unfortunately, Magicians these days seem an even rarer commodity than their books!”

“You will think of something, I am sure.”

“Perhaps. It is not as though I can just summon up Thomas Godbless, or even the Raven King himself from thin air!” Though he said the words, a strange light seemed to flicker in his eyes at that moment. Jonathan blinked, looking almost thoughtful.

Arabella could not help but notice this,“You had better not, Jonathan!” She said with a light laugh, “I am hardly well prepared enough to host a _King_ over for dinner!”

“It's just as well,” Jonathan replied with a shrug, that old, familiar ironical twist to his lips returning. “I am sure he would find me a most irritating pupil in any case.”

Even as she spoke however, that odd light in his eyes never left Jonathan.

* * *

 

It was still dark when Arabella awoke to find the space in the bed beside her empty and cold. She blearily opened her eyes, pulling the blankets and sheets more tightly around herself as she lifted her head, searching, and finding Jonathan already awake, sitting up at the desk across the room, his head hidden behind the meager pile of books he had managed to gather. The gray light of dawn was just beginning to creep in through the window, though it was clear her husband had been like that for some time.

Blinking the sleep from her eyes, Arabella pushed herself up from the bed, moving aside the blankets and sheets atop of her. “Jonathan?” She murmured, brushing back a hand through her hair.

“Just a moment, my love.” The words were distracted, trailing off into the sound of rustling pages. “I nearly have this and then I will come back...” He glanced up, blinking, as if he had unexpectedly -- and _successfully –_ managed to transport himself into a completely different setting. “to bed...” Ink fleck is lips from where he had been sucking on the end of his pen, and his hair was sticking up around his face in complete disarray, as though he'd only just rolled out of bed. Considering that he was still in his dressing gown, he might very well have.

“The sun is rising, Jonathan.”

“So it is!” He lay his pen down, pressing his hands to his face for a moment, before pushing them back and up through his hair, tugging at the skin around his eyes for a moment. He shook his head, before pushing himself back out of his chair and onto his feet. That crooked, ironical sort of grin of his pulled at his lips. “Well, I might as well get started then...” And with those words he moved on to get dressed, laying a quick kiss on Arabella's brow as he passed her by.

  
Arabella only sighed, watching her husband as he dashed off to begin his day with a sort of fond bemusement.

* * *

 

Jonathan had gone out soon after dressing that morning, to begin anew his quest to find whatever sources of knowledge were available to him as a Magician. He seemed, at least, in far better spirits than he had been coming home the night before, his bearing and manner far more optimistic. He had not returned to their room at the inn, meaning -- hopefully at least – that he had not stuck too many dead ends quite yet.

The first of the cats appeared at about noon that day. The creature had slunk out of the shadows behind the dresser as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Small and gray, it could not have been much more than a kitten. Arabella was in the process of retrieving her sketchbook and pencils from where she had lain them the night before. A low mewling brought her attention to the cat as it stood there in the middle of the floor, first blinking up at her then turning it's gaze about the room, looking lost.

“Oh!” Arabella breathed, quickly set down her things. Approaching the kitten slowly, she moved down to it's level so as to not frighten it. Though at first it edged back away from her, as she held out a hands towards it, the kitten began slowly to move forward sniffing at her fingers. After a few moments it began rubbing it's head against her hand, and she began to gently trace her fingers down it's back. “Now where did you come from?” Arabella wondered aloud.

It was possible, of course, that it belonged to the inn's proprietor, meant as a rat catcher, and yet...Arabella frowned, her head cocking to the side thoughtfully as she scooted an inch and then another nearer to the kitten. She hadn't seen any other cats at the inn during all of her and Jonathan's time in Newcastle. As her hand moved behind one of the kitten's ears it let out a sharp yowl, suddenly backing away from her. Drawing her hand away, she saw that there was a scarred, furless patch of skin, just where she had been about to touch. It's ear as well, she noticed now, had a jagged look to it, as though it were a nibbled on piece of toast. Really, the more she looked at the cat the more it looked as though it had been spending it's short life growing up in a back alleyway rather than being cared for by anyone at all...

Just as this thought sprang to mind Arabella saw a flash of movement erupt to life from the corner of her vision. She rose to her feet, turning just in time to see another cat – this one an adult, covered all in a fluff of white fur – come leaping down from the bed. For a moment Arabella could only stand there, blinking in surprise at the creature. She _knew_ it hadn't been there a moment before. A silk bow was tied around the cat's neck, embroidered with the name Peaseblossom.

Even as Arabella took note of this, however, the yowling of another cat had her turning again, to find a manx sitting just near the fireplace, tail curled up around itself and it's head darting around as it took in it's –apparently – new surroundings. More and more cats began appearing then; black and orange and tortoiseshell; prowling around the room, in and out of every corner, yowling and meowing, hissing at one another. Twelve cats, sixteen, thirty, their numbers kept growing multiplying by the moment. Arabella's eyes widened, and she stepped back. Nearly ever cat in _Newcastle_ had to be appearing in this very room.

She glanced around the room, a look caught of utter bafflement crossing her features for a moment, she pressed a hand to her face.

_Oh, Jonathan, what were you thinking?_

There came next a tentative knock at the door. “Missus Strange? Are you in there?” The voice of the innkeeper's wife.

Arabella turned towards the door, taking in a sharp breath. How was she going to explain any of...well... _her room was filled with dozens upon dozens of cats!_

“Can't you hear it?! _Someone_ is in there! And with my Peaseblossom as well!” This was a voice Arabella did _not_ recognize. “Oh, don't you worry, my precious darling! Your Mummy's here!”

“Missus Strange, please – ”

“Just a moment!” Arabella called back, taking a breath to steady herself, before she began attempting to navigate the crawling, mewling tumults of the sea of cats before her.

When she finally made it to the door Arabella was nearly knocked over by a blur of sage-green muslin.

“There she is! You see, I told you sweetums, everything is going to be all right now, I'm here.”

Arabella turned to stare at the woman who had just pushed her way into the room, taken up the white Persian – Peaseblossom – into her arms and was now cooing over the cat. She was an older woman, with her hair just beginning to turn gray and a figure that would rather remind one of a cheerful teapot. Well, that was if she was not spinning upon Arabella right now, looking decidedly _uncheerful._

“Madam!” The woman said as her eyes locked upon Arabella's , “What is the meaning of this? Why has your husband stolen my cat?”

“Pardon?” Before she could say anything more, Arabella bit her tongue, eyes shutting and lips thinning as she released a long breath. She glanced towards the Innkeeper's wife for some kind of an explanation.

The poor woman cast Arabella an almost apologetic look. “This is Missus Elkins, her husband runs the bookshop next door. She came in telling me her cat had vanished into thin air right before her eyes and demanded to know which room the magician was staying in...”

Arabella sighed. Turning back to Mrs. Elkins, she spread her arms, “My _husband_ seems to have used his magic to bring far more that just _your_ cat here, if I may speak so plainly. And I am sure there is a reasonable explanation behind all of this, one that goes beyond Mr. Strange being some kind of a –“

“A thief! A thief and a scoundrel!” Mrs. Elkins interrupted.

Arabella bit her tongue again. “I can see that you are angry, but I assure you Jonathan is none of those things. This is some kind of misunderstanding, a mistake at the root of all of this.”

Mrs. Elkins would hear none of it however, and instead only tossed her head, brushing past Arabella once more, cat in tow.

The eyes of the two remaining women turned back then on the room full of cats. “Well.” Arabella said. “I doubt she's the only Bookshop owner's wife who is missing a cat.” She had best get to work, before any more Mrs. Elkinses showed up.

* * *

 

It had taken up a good deal of the afternoon, but eventually both Arabella and the Innkeeper's wife (who's name was Nora Brooks) returned all of the cats to their proper owners. All that was, save for the little gray kitten, who continued to trail after Arabella as she parted with Mrs. Brooks and made her way back to her room for the night.

Jonathan was there, seated in the middle of the room, a book open beside him along with a platter containing upon it a dead fish. Arabella's husband stood as she walked through the door, the cat lept after the fish, and Arabella's expression rather resembled a frayed rope which remained held together only by a few strings.

“Jonathan, _no.”_

Mr. Strange's expression crumpled into perplexity, his brows knotting together. “No what?” He asked, “Arabella, I would think you would feel some sense of pride for me! As I was about to say when you walked through the door, I have just figured out the solution to the problem of how I am to learn more magic! The summoning I was researching this morning – ”

“I have seen the work of your summoning, Jonathan!” Arabella said, “I have just gotten back from taking care of it. Was it necessary for you to take in _every cat in Newcastle?”_

Jonathan blinked. He opened his mouth to speak, but then shut it. “But I only cast the spell just now...” He said. A pause, “ _Every_ cat?”

Arabella sighed, shaking her head. Her anger drained quickly as she realized her husband truly had no idea what she was talking about.“They appeared a bit after noon.”

“Every cat...”He repeated again. His eyes traced back to the kitten now gorging itself on the fish beside him. “Well, that was perhaps a bit more effective than I'd thought...I will have to work on the matter of timing, however...”

Arabella sighed, rolling her eyes. “Perhaps,” she said, “you can wait until we arrive back home. At least people will know you there and will not presume you have deliberately stolen their pets.”

 


End file.
